


Love is all around

by Doralice



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: (in the second chapter), 5+1 Things, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Blow Jobs, Brutasha is endgame, Cunnilingus, Did I mentioned that I love Natasha, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Foot Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, I just love her, M/M, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov-centric, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Natasha Romanov, Sex As Character Study, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, sex as stress relief
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doralice/pseuds/Doralice
Summary: Five times Natasha helps and cares about one of her teammates, and one time they team up to help and care about her.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Jane Foster/Thor, Natasha Romanov & Avengers Team, Natasha Romanov/Avengers Team, Pepper Pots/Tony Stark (mentioned), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	Love is all around

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love is all around](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25729165) by [Doralice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doralice/pseuds/Doralice). 



> Hello there with another translation of one of my story.
> 
> This is a tribute to the original Avengers team, which is five (superheroes) plus one (superheroine).  
> It is also a tribute to the Brutasha ship, which was handled in a shameful way.  
> But above all it is a tribute to Natasha, who deserved much better.

_I feel it in my fingers_

_I feel it in my toes_

_The love that’s all around me_

_And so the feeling grows_

~ ~ ~

**Part I**

______________________________

~ One ~

_December 2009, Budapest_

The safe house was like any other safe house: a run-down hole in a suburban building, with the carpet peeling off, the broken glass of a window corked with a piece of cardboard, and the mice scratching between the cavities of the walls.

“Ah, home sweet home!” Clint declaimed closing the door behind him.

Natasha dropped into a stained canvas armchair.

“Do you make the call?”

He shook his head: “It's up to you, sweets.”

She pouted.

“A-ah. Try again.” Clint rummaged in a bag and fished out a disposable cell phone, “Here.” He threw it to her, “It's all yours.”

“Then you make dinner.” She said caughting it midair, “And change the sheets.”

“Demanding.”

“We can always switch duties, darling.”

“What do you want for dinner?”

Natasha grinned as she typed the number on the keyboard. The earlier she made that call, the sooner the problem arose. That mission had been a huge pain in the ass from the beginning and it did not seem to improve at all, if Fury wanted to give them other missions like that Natasha had every intention of asking him for a raise.

Twenty minutes (and an aneurysm) later, Natasha's hands destroyed the cell phone with exceeding enthusiasm and threw it in the trash. Clint wisely avoided asking for the first shift in the bathroom and the rest of the evening was spent in a silence full of weariness. They took a shower, patched their wounds between one bite and the other of what Clint had managed to cook, cleaned and arranged the weapons for the next day. Finally they climbed onto the bed.

Out of habit Clint switched on the old cathode ray TV on a random channel. They were broadcasting a cartoon and neither of them had even the strength to think about changing it. Thus they fell asleep, with the Hungarian dialogues as background and the bright colors projected on the dirty walls of the small flat.

The first time she was woken up it was still pitch dark outside, the only source of light was the static TV screen. The city's noises were the muffled ones of the night, so Natasha could assume that only a few hours had passed. The cause of the awakening lay on her left buttock: in his sleep Clint had planted a hand on her ass. And it was not one of those random movements that could occur while sleeping together: he was groping at her. Oh well. They would have laughed the next morning – at least _she_ would have laughed. Natasha waved her hips to drive his hand away and Clint awoke with a start.

“Sorry!” He muttered, “Fuck… sorry, I- I thought you were Laura…”

Her response was a lazy grunt to signal that it was all right, and they went back to sleep.

The second time she was woken up the trams had started running again, so it must have been at least half past four in the morning. Clint was holding her as he usually did when they slept together, and so far everything was normal. It wasn't entirely normal that he was also trying to hump her dry through her pajamas.

“Clint…”

He grumbled something in his sleep, not stopping at all the thrusts.

She elbowed him: “ _Clint!_ ”

“Shit! Did I do it again?”

“Yeah.” Natasha turned to look at him cautiously, “What's up?”

He rubbed his face in his hands.

“Sorry. Is just…” He sighed loudly and Natasha braced herself for the outbreak of words, “You have her scent… I mean, Laura has the same scent… What is it? Shampoo? Dunno… reminds me of her. And I miss her, fuck how much I miss her! Two weeks for the term, you know, and I've already skipped Christmas and sure I'll skip New Year's Eve… _shit shit shit_ … if I can't be there for the birth I'm dead. But this mission is fucking mess and I miss them like air! I can't stand to be away for so long, Nat, I can't stand these missions anymore. When it was just Laura and me, just the two of us, it was almost bearable… but now there's Cooper and Lila will be here soon and I can't do it, Nat, I can't do it anymore. I'm here, that's my job, but I'd just want to be there, with them… I want to fell sleep with her, hug her belly, feel the baby. And you have her scent… fuck…”

Natasha carefully weighed his words, nibbling on her lower lip. Their work didn't leave many loopholes in situations like this.

“She was the one who suggested that shampoo to me, you know?”

“Yeah?” Clint turned his head on the pillow and gave her a weak smile, “Then we have to blame her.”

Natasha frowned: “Oh, come on. It's never the wife to blame.”

“Right. The husband.” 

“The other woman, Clint. Always blame the other woman.” She sighed theatrically, “Do I have to teach you everything?”

They looked at each other in the dim light of the room and Natasha was pretty sure he had caught. But obviously he made no move. So she turned to give him her back again, and to stress the implicit invitation she grabbed his arm and carried it around her waist.

“Nat…”

“Sssh... you'll wake up the baby.”

Natasha heard him gave a fluttering gasp.

It took awhile for Clint to make up his mind, but suddenly his arm on her waist was no longer an inert weight, Natasha's back was covered by the heat of his chest, and their legs entwined. To encourage him, she pushed her hips backwards: his erection was there and now it was pressing between her buttocks for all the length.

Natasha felt him sink his face into her hair and breathe in and finally start rubbing against her. She helped him in silence, interlacing theri fingers and moving in turn, meeting his rhythm, following the crescendo of his breath.

When he came, Clint was quiet. A matter of habit, Natasha thought. He was always like this: discreet and noiseless, all his senses projected on the target.

So Clint hugged her tightly to him: his arms like steel bands around her minute body and his forehead pressed to the back of her neck. Only his broken breath and body trembling indicating what was happening. Natasha wrapped her arms around his and hold him in turn, hold him as long as he needed.

As soon as he caught his breath again, Clint got out of bed. Natasha listened to the soothing sounds of her best friend moving around the flat. How he went to the bathroom, turned on the light, ran the water to clean up himself. How he fished a clean pajamas from his bag and put it on. Finally, how he went back to bed.

Natasha felt the mattress dip behind her and heard the sound of the old springs protesting. She felt the warmth of Clint's body envelop her again. A hand brushed away her hair and lips fell on her shoulder. “Thanks”, those lips said silently on her skin. She didn't ask him how he felt: it was enough for her to feel his breathing stabilize and his arms become heavy with sleep.

Clint was the only person who could dare to do things like this with her. For Natasha it was certainly not a boast, this sort of touch phobia. It paired with her affection hunger and together they weren't a good combination. But Clint's touch was something that transcended all her fears or needs. The two of them fit together as if they were twins separated at birth. Natasha made herself small in his hold and fell asleep thinking that Laura was a lucky woman.

In another life, they were probably lovers. In another universe, perhaps she was the one at home with a baby in her womb, waiting for his return.

______________________________

  
  


~ Two ~

_May 2013, New York_

As she landed the Quinjet in the Tower's launch bay, the only thing Natasha could think of was her blessed bed. It had been a routine mission, nothing special or particularly difficult, but she had struggled alone for nearly a week, eating bad and sleeping worse. She definitely needed a shower and to get a solid twelve hour sleep.

On the way to her quarters she met Tony on his way back from the lab. Normally it shouldn't have surprised her to find him strolling around the Tower at – she glanced at her watch – a quarter to midnight. The man's sleep pattern was practically a joke. But this wasn't an ordinary evening.

“Romanoff.” He greeted her.

“Stark.” Natasha nodded at him, “Still awake? Tomorrow's the big day.”

“Cant sleep.”

“Mh. Caffeine overdose insomnia?”

Tony gave her a tired look.

“Nah. I would call it the type of insomnia that you get when you know that tomorrow they will open you to remove from your chest the device that has kept you alive for five years, during an open heart surgery never performed in human history.”

Natasha feigned a conscious expression: “Oh, _that_ kind of insomnia.”

“Yeah, that.”

They exchanged an ironic look.

“I'll have a snack later.” She said stopping in front of her door, “See you in the kitchen?”

Tony shrugged: “I can't eat after midnight.”

“And you are known to have an aversion to light. What if you get wet?”

He scratched his head, messing up his already atrocious hair.

“Do you really want to find out? I mean, _Gremlins_ is a bit gore to be a kids' movie. Did you know that they had to make up the PG-13 to rate it?”

“It's not the gore that concerns me, but the prospect of having to deal with multiple Tony Stark.”

“Multiple _evil_ Tony Stark.” He pointed out.

They chuckled together. Natasha watched him from the doorway: his dark circles were more evident than ever.

“Pepper?”

“Some S.I. emergency on the west coast. Very good timing, huh.” He sighed rubbing his eyes, “Shell return with the first flight of the morning.”

“Mh.” Natasha looked at him critically, “Go to sleep, Tony.”

“Here it is. That's just what I needed. The stern voice of the Holy Mother Russia and” He snapped his fingers, “Problem solved!” 

“Stop complaining. When Pepper is not around I'm the one in charge of taking care of you.”

“What?” He gestured towards her head, “You think both being redheads makes you switchable?”

“Common sense makes us switchable.” She said raising an eyebrow, “Red hair is just a lovely addition. Like a pretty bow on the gift.”

“Stop trying to stun me with your chatter. I'm the one who usually do it, this tower is not big enough for the two of us.”

He turned to walk way then seemed to change his mind and turned again to her.

“The truth is” He pointed a finger at her with petulance, “If Pepper were here she would take care of me in a _completely different_ way then shoo me to sleep.”

“Sorry, you'll have to settle for the stern voice of the Holy Mother Russia.”

"You are heartless! I can't even get drunk o take drugs, you know?" 

\- Good heavens Tony, you're such a whining baby!" She sighed heavily. 

"A man asks only for a little love…"

"I'm sure your right hand is full of love."

"The left is no exception. Do you know I'm ambidextrous? Pepper can tell you something about it." Tony waved his hands in front of her, "Okay, this is on the edge of harassment. I'm going to watch a porn. Unless-" 

Natasha closed the door in his face: "Goodnight Tony."

About half an hour later, with her hair still wet and combed in two braids, and wearing an old over-sized San Francisco 49 shirt stolen years ago from Clint, Natasha was half stuffed in the fridge looking for the aforementioned snack. She didn't have much appetite, but she hadn't eaten for hours and it wasn't pleasant to be awakened by hunger. Better safe than sorry. 

She made herself a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk. Then her eye fell on the omnipresent candy jar. Well, why not? She fished out a heart shaped cherry lollipop. A little sweetness in life never hurt.

Satisfied, she walked out of the kitchen, heading back to her quarters, but she stopped halfway. Down in the penthouse the TV was on. Natasha peered from the internal balcony, already knowing what to expect.

"Hey."

Sunk into the sofa, Tony turned his head and gave her a grimly look.

"Hey." He grunted back.

"Did the porn work?"

Tony gestured vaguely over his groin: "What do you say?"

Natasha choked a laugh. And then she sighed – poor Tony. A glance was enough to assess the situation and understand that at this rate neither of them would never sleep. It wouldn't have been a problem for her to spend the night awake, but she couldn't even think of leaving Tony to himself in a similar situation.

So Natasha went around the balcony and then downstairs, reached the sofa and sat down on the other end.

"What's on TV?" She asked him as she start to attack her snack.

"I wish I could tell." He answered toneless, his gaze fixed blankly on the screen, "In your opinion is it a reality or a mockumentary?"

Chewing on her sandwich, Natasha narrowed her eyes in the direction of the TV.

"Salmon rising documentary."

"Oh shit, I thought I switched from the porn!"

Natasha's snorted over the milk and Tony gave her a smirk. Oh, she knew that expression very well. He may have been faithful to Pepper, but nothing would have stopped him from the pleasure of flirting. From time to time his ego needed a polish – sometimes even a little more than that, if he wasn't so hopelessly honest in his relationships. However, it is well known: in extreme conditions people find themselves performing extreme actions.

Natasha unwrapped her lollipop and settled herself better on the sofa, stretching her legs up to touch Tony's thighs with her feet. Too tired and emotionally strained to keep up his eternal facade of sly superiority, he couldn't hide a certain surprise. 

"You know, you're not helping me at all with your…" He gestured between them, "With all this Lolita attitude."

Natasha took the lollipop out of her mouth with a wet sound.

"It depends on the point of view."

She raised her feet and placed them on his lap.

"Point of view. Uh?" Tony blinked once, twice in the direction of her feet, "What are you doing?"

Natasha rubbed her feet together as if to warm them, inevitably going to rub them on his groin. Tony wrigled, sucking the air between his teeth.

"What I'm doing?"

She tilted her head to the side and looked at him innocently, holding the lollipop between her lips.

"I was speaking in pure irony, huh."

Pure irony, but Tony didn't move away nor tried to move her feet away. In fact, a firm hand closed on Natasha's ankle, as if he was afraid that she would change her mind and decide to break the contact.

"Do you know what is said about irony?"

Deliberately, she rubbed one foot all over his erection. Tony rolled his eyes and let out a high-pitched moan.

"In a Freudian sense," Natasha began to move her feet in slowly systematic strokes, "Irony have the purpose to express ideas that violate the taboos' censorship."

Tony tilted his head back, his gaze fixed on her.

"Yeah, keep talk dirty to me…"

If he was still able to joke she wasn't doing a good job, Natasha thought to herself. She twisted her ankle, closing his erection between her feet. He breathed hard with his mouth parted and watched her with an amazed expression. Natasha held his gaze the entire time.

"Jesus, you are- ngh…" Tony cleared his throat, glaring from her face to her feet, "You are good at it."

She smiled politely: "Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome." He stammered, "Can I reciprocate somehow?"

From her ankle, his hand slid up her leg and hooked over her knee. Natasha liked Tony's hands: they had the skillful and confident touch of a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. But that moment wasn't for her, it was for him. Only for him.

"Another time, maybe."

They exchanged a knowing glance.

"I'll take it into account."

And Natasha knew he was meaning it.

She nodded and it was like that simple gesture had also removed the last of Tony inhibitions. He sighed deeply, all the tension built up in those hours – in that day, in the last few months – leaving his body, allowing him to finally relax. From that point everything became surprisingly simple.

Tony let out a relieving groan when he came, his eyes rolling back, arching onto the sofa and then falling back like a rag doll, his breath heavy and a hint of sweat on his hairline.

He turned to her, speechless and still panting. And Natasha found herself smirking: it was no small thing to leave Anthony Edward Stark speechless – and out of breath. Above all, it was no small thing to steal Tony's frankness. A lot of emotions were crossing his face and he managed to communicate them all to her, reassuring Natasha about what had just happened.

Now Natasha could relax too, feel welcomed by the sofa cushions, get caught up in melancholy. Feeling vulnerable as Tony felt without Pepper on a night like this, yet not allowing herself any sweet fallbacks. No consolation, just a sweet lollipop.

In another life, they were probably lovers. In another universe, he was certainly a silent movie star and she was a rich heiress, his secret and forbidden love.

______________________________

  
  


~ Three ~

_November 2013, New York_

Halfway through her second leap, a large drop fell on her cheek. And then another and another. Natasha raised her head to scan the sky. It was Novembre but the weather forecast said sunny all day over the Big Apple. Yet there they are: huge, threatening gray clouds gathering up right above the city center.

When a lightning tore through the sky followed by thunder that shook the trees around her, Natasha knew that for this morning she would have to leave the Central Park trails and fold up on a treadmill. She lifted the hood of her sweatshirt and ran to the Avengers Tower.

 _Squish-squish_ made her running shoes on the shiny floor of the entrance hall, _clack-clack_ made her teeth for she was freezing. Natasha took off her sweatshirt and squeezed heading to the gym.

Half an hour later, with the treadmill set to "uphill" and Ravel roaring into her headphones, she had finally regained a normal body temperature. Perhaps her daily schedule was not entirely wasted.

 _Crash_ did something behind her. Natasha nearly tripped over her own feet. She turned off the treadmill and took off the headphones, turning to find the source of the noise.

"Thor?"

"I'm alright!" She heard him say loudly from under a multifunctional bench – or at least what was left of it.

Muttering to herself in Russian that she doubted he was well at all, Natasha covered the distance and bent down beside him. Thor puffed his hair off his face and stared at the ceiling with a dejected expression.

"I'm alright." He said again to the void.

Natasha stared at him: could a demigod look miserable? He could, undoubtedly.

"So." She cleared her throat and scoffed at him, "It's your fault if my mourning run was ruined."

He gave her a guilty look that pitied her a little. Only a little. Because, what the hell! In Natasha's life were really few good things, how come that this ancient alien didn't learned yet how to control his powers?

"I am truly so sorry."

Natasha pursed her lips and sighed with resignation. There was no point in sulking to him.

She knew about Greenwich, of course. The whole world knew about it. When an evil alien entity swoops down to Earth and tries to unleash a universal apocalypse, it doesn't exactly go unnoticed. Natasha didn't know exactly what had happened, but it didn't matter. She had the knowledge – and above all she had the skills – to read beyond the aseptic chronicle of events, beyond the numbers and statistics of the battle, beyond the encrypted words written in the SHIELD’s confidential files.

Natasha held out her hand. Thor grabbed it and got up in the middle of the bench’s gears making a great racket. She looked at him then beyond the windows, the storm still raging over the city. Thor was a demigod and she was only human, but her training and the trials that life had put before her had been inhumane. It wasn't difficult for her to read a divinity and get the right answers.

“Spar with me?”

Thor opened his mouth but no word came out, he just stared at her like a big puzzled dog.

She reassured him with a pat on the shoulder: “I promise I'll be gentle.”

Thor burst out a loud laugh.

“Alright, my friend.” He nodded, “Let's spar.”

They positioned themselves on the mat.

“JARVIS can you please dim the lights? Put on something suitable, too... Um... Twenty One Pilots?”

“An excellent choice, Miss Romanoff.” Stated the AI as the gym fell into dim light.

 _Stressed Out_ ’s intro came out of the speakers. Natasha started rocking on her feet. Thor took a step to the side and she mimicked his movement. Eyes on each other and lightning flashing outside, they found themselves dancing in a slow spiral. When Thor engaged, predictably first, Natasha had no trouble dodging him.

“How’s Jane? We haven't seen her for a while.”

Thor let out what sounded like a painful whine and lowered his guard, allowing Natasha to catch him with a trip. While outside the concert of thunder reached a notable peak, inside there was a demigod felling to the ground.

Natasha took a few steps away and watched him get up. When Thor turned to look at her, the playful air with which they had started to spar was gone.

“Hope all well at home.” She said casually, “How did your father take the double funeral?”

 _BOOM_ , a thunder struck right out of the Tower. The windows shaked, Natasha's hair stood on end.

Thor crouched down and grabbed her by the ankle. She let herself be dragged to the ground, then kick him in the face and hooked her legs to his. She spun on herself by levering, thus preventing Thor's mass from collapsing on her, and grabbed his arm, pinning him down. At least for a few seconds, that time took him to recover from the surprise and react properly.

“You're skilled.” He admitted after having switched the positions, “Few are able to catch me in fault.”

“Thank you. You're not bad too.”

Natasha was petite and in some cases this was anything but a disadvantage. She managed to free one arm from his grip and pull his hair.

“Ouch! This is cheating!”

“No.” She retorted pinching his side, “This is cheating.”

With a laugh that shook them both, Thor jerked to the side. They rolled together on the mat and Natasha found herself astride him. Perfect position to insist on torture.

“For the love of Gods, no! I beg you! No no no! What are you doing to me?!”

“Asgardians don't know what tickle is?”

“Usually- ngh…” Thor wriggled under her, Natasha grabbed at his shirt feeling like it was a rodeo, “We don't engage in similar activities outside the bedroom.”

Natasha froze on the spot, her brows shot up in the sudden realization that what she felt beneath her wasn't one of his _thighs_.

“For you is... like _foreplay_?”

“Yes.” Thor panted, “You mustn't feel embarrassed, my friend. You couldn't have known. Midgardian people are different. Jane... the first time we…” He licked his lips, “Wel,l I found out in a similar way that for you it is different.”

Natasha clasped her mouth to stifle a laugh. The mighty god of thunder trying to seduce a woman _tickling_ her.

“I apologize.” He said with a distant gaze, all the fun suddenly vanished, “This is not how a sparring partner should behave.”

“Mmh” She tilted her head to the side and looked at him inquisitive, “And how should you behave?”

Thor looked at her and somewhere out of the Tower the clouds grew darker and denser.

“How should Thor Odinsonn behave?” Natasha placed her hands on his broad chest and scratched her niles over the tense muscles, “God of thunder and fertility, heir to the throne of Asgard, protector of Midgard…”

Thor moved beneath her and lightning struck near the Tower, briefly illuminating their faces in the soft gym light.

“Are you still a demigod?” She provoke him, her voice hard as her nails digging on his skin and down to the edge of his trousers.

Thor sucked through his teeth, his eyes glowing with blue light. Blue lightning danced around them, crackling, filling the air with static electricity. Natasha slipped two fingers into the hem of his pants and pulled, then released with a snap.

“Are you still worthy?”

Thor held out his hand and with a sharp hiss Mjölnir split the air. As soon as he had it in his hand, he twisted his wrist and planted it on the ground beside him. The lightning subsided, settling into calm electric waves that lapped the air around them.

“Wherever I go I bring only pain and destruction.” His voice was so hoarse and deep it could compete with the thunders out there.

Under Thor's cautious gaze, Natasha reached out to Mjölnir e hovered her fingers over it, not daring to touch it. Small electric shocks licked her skin. She moved her fingers, fascinated by the shapes and the play of light.

“Not here.” Her voice caressing, her eyes soft, “Not today.”

Just as carefully, Thor's hand moved up her thigh and stilled on her hip.

“Not today.” He echoed.

He was still a god, he was still worthy. But he could afford to be just Thor, for a moment. And Natasha would soon find out that not even alien gods escape certain logics.

She pulled down the waistband of his trousers and – well, it would have been too trivial to compare it with Mjölnir, but still as she grabbed his cock her hand didn't manage close around it. Thor moved his hips with undisguised impatience and Natasha sighed: demigod but after all still a man.

She tightened her grip and moved her hand up and down, tickling his belly with the other. Thor let out a satisfied growl that resembled a large cat’s purr, and she smiled to herself. Loaded and frustrated as he was, everything was resolved surprisingly quickly. A burst of lightning rose crackling around them and danced in the air as Thor pulsed in her hand – over and over and _over_.

Thor took a deep shaking breath: “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” She answered amused.

“Can I reciprocate?” His big hands still gently resting on her thighs.

Natasha darted her eyes from his flushed face to the still hard cock. Apparently he wasn't the god of fertility so to speak – Miss Foster was a really lucky lady. She shook her head and he nodded, as if expecting that answer.

“But you can do one thing for me.”

He sat up and looked dearly at her. His expression was open and relaxed again.

“Everything.” He said solemnly.

“Call her.”

Thor's eyes flashed blue electric. It lasted the time of a breath. He bowed his head and when he stared up at her again the light was gone.

“You're dying to do it. Call her.”

“I don't even know what to tell her.”

Natasha looked out the window: the sun was shining again on New York.

“She'll know.”

In another life, they were probably lovers. In another universe, they could be foolish adventures fellows, seeking challenges and flirtations, like in a Dumas novel.

______________________________

  
  


~ Four ~

_March 2014, Washington D.C._

Surviving a missile attack and going into hiding to avoid being killed by an international terrorist organization certainly weren’t missing on Natasha’s list. But honestly that had been a really busy week, to put it mildly. And no, she wouldn't pretend she felt like a wildflower – no point to lie to herself.

There were things that could help her. Simple and practical things, even apparently perfunctory, which managed to restore her to calm. To keep her focused on reality, preventing her from falling into the spiral of panic. Things like making a Russian tea, with all the attached rituals. Or disassemble, clean, reassemble and polish piece by piece her favorite gun. Or even paint her nails.

Usually she didn't show herself to others: people didn't understand. Clint was the only one who knew these peculiarities and respected them for what they were. It wasn't shame nor modesty, those moments were hers but she didn't mind being seen. It was the nuisance of having to account, having to explain to the teammates why in the middle of a mission she felt the need to manicure or to put on the samovar. That was simply unnerving and crushed the spirit.

Washed and dressed, Natasha leave the bathroom to Steve. Sam had welcomed them into his home, but had stepped respectfully aside as they clean up and rest, gathering their minds. She would just have time to devote herself to her gun without being bothered before she had to return to the ranks.

So it went, and after half a hour Natasha's gun was shiny and ready, perfect as ever after her attentions. But as she put it back in the holster, she could hear the water still flowing. She stared at the bathroom door: it wasn't Steve’s habit to take that long. Alright, usually their showers were timed because they had to report to Fury as soon as possible, of course in different situation they would take a normal shower. But frankly Natasha couldn't believe that Steven Grant Rogers, son of the Great Depression and WWII veteran, was the guy who ran out of hot water.

Natasha knocked on the door.

“Steve?”

Only the noise of the water answered her. The lack of an answer was also weird, considering how acute a super soldier's hearing was.

“I'm coming in, okay?” She announced opening the door, “I’m not looking.” She lift her hand to cover the view from the shower, “Just wondering if you’re- _yebat kopat_ *!”

She hadn't thought about the mirror.

Now now, for Natasha it wasn't the first time she'd caught a teammate in the shower. Often on a mission the space and timing were what they were, and they had to make a virtue of necessity. With Clint, Natasha was used to discussing strategy while he shaved and she was on the toilet.

But he wasn't Clint, he was Steve. And he wasn't just taking a shower. No person in the world was more polite and modest than him, so Natasha was mortified.

“ _Bliiiiin_ **! _Blin blin blin_ …” She hissed, “Sorry! I- I’ll leave now.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice resounded gravelly between the tiles, “I was just about to leave.”

He closed the water and step out the shower, emerging from the vapors in all his majestic glory. The bathroom was small and he was _imposing_ – in every possible sense. Natasha didn't know where to look.

“Are you alright?” She asked, because at least that’s why she was here, to check on him.

Steve gave her a meaningful look as he wrapped a towel around his hips.

“Yeah, rhetorical question.” She glanced at him and clicked her tongue, “Is it... normal? It looks _painful_.”

He sighed loudly as he snatched another towel to dab his hair.

She held out a hand: “Got it, none of my business-”

“It is.”

“What? Normal?”

“Painful.” He said in a hard voice, “I don't know if it's normal. There is no super-soldiers support group to seek answers.”

Natasha turned fully to him and leaned against the sink, crossing her arms over her chest. It wasn't the first time she'd run into a similar situation, but now it was very different. _She_ was very different. This particular super-soldier was different.

“What’s the trigger?”

Steve emerged from the towel and looked at her doubtfully.

“Emotional stress?” He suggested, “I've never really thought about it.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Typical. Put all your feelings in a bottle, hide the bottle under a rug, beat it all up and then set it on fire, finally close your eyes and plug your ears and scream very loud.

Steve didn't move as she approached. He merely observed her cautiously, with his damp hair tousled and the towel clenched tight in his hand. Natasha stood in front of him scanning him head to toe, considering his forcibly steady breath and the bulge under the towel and the general reddening that had little to do with the heat of the shower.

“Can I help you?”

“Nat, I know what you want to do but-”

“Please, let's spare ourselves the compliments. You are in _pain_.”

Steve put his hands to his hips and lowered his head, frowning in that typical struggling expression he wore when he was torn apart.

“And I know I'm not your type, so no drama, just let me help you.”

He raised his eyebrows, staring at her with a puzzled look.

“My _type_?”

“Yeah, you know…” She lifted a shoulder casually fiddling with the edge of his towel, “Petite, brunette, intense brown eyes, sharp tongue, conflicted relationship with Howard Stark.”

“Mmh.” Steve pursed his lips, “That's a pretty specific description.”

She looked up at him: “I'm good at observing.”

“Yeah, you are.” He said, the shadow of a smile making its way across his face.

Natasha's fingers tightened around the towel. Steve's hand closed around her wrist, light but firm.

“Nat…” His throat moved up and down, “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Now com on, don’t be so dramatic.”

He shifted on his feet. He was so clearly frustrated.

“What I mean-”

“I know what you mean.” She cutted off with a sweet whisper.

There was already enough awkwardness without adding a confession of virginity.

“Green if eveything’s okay, red if you want me to stop.” She said offhandedly.

Steve's eyes darted to her face, then he finally agreed with a briefly nod.

The towel fell and Natasha closed her fingers around his erection and – _good_ _Lord_ – there was little to envy to Asgardian standards. Conscious about Steve’s lack of experiece, she moved her hand slowly, almost _tenderly_ , studying his reaction.

She could practically feel all his restrained frustration, all his bottled up emotions. Alright, this wasn't going to get away that easily.

With a graceful movement – because it was always worth doing things gracefully, even in these situations, _especially_ in these situations – Natasha knelt in front of him. Gently, so gently, she pulled down the foreskin and gave a cautious lick.

“Oh…” Steve groaned softly.

Natasha looked up at him: face heated up, lips parted, eyes glowing and dark with arousal.

“Color?”

“G-green.”

Good. Natasha ran her tongue all along the shaft, from base to tip. Then she closed her mouth on the glans and sucked soflty. She felt him quiver above her and she placed a hand on his thigh, as if to soothe him.

“Color?” She asked again.

It took Steve a few seconds to regain control of his breathing.

“Green. Green... my God, please... _green_.”

Natasha let out a chuckle before resuming her task.

Considering his hoarse moan, she was managing to give him the relief he needed. And it wasn’t entirely umpleasant for her too. Steve was heavy on her mouth, tasting like soap and pre-come. He doesn’t push, nor he dared to touch her. ‘So polite’ – she though. She could bet he would take great care of any of his partners.

Steve warned her when he was about to come. She wouldon’t mind, but he forced himself away. He wrapped a hand over her on his erection and knelt, almost _collapsing_. Natasha grabbed him by the back of his neck with her free hand and Steve buried his face in her neck, panting hard and spilling over their entwined hands.

For a long time they stayed like that. Natasha closed her eyes while he unleash everything, his breath unstable and his cry quiet. She didn't move, uncomfortable as the position was, bearing him and all that unspoken emotions. Until he was the first to pull away.

He gave her a light kiss on the temple and rested his forehead on hers, sniffing away the last tears. All in all, for be a super-soldier Steve Rogers was quite human.

“For the record, I don't think there's anyone you're not the type for.”

Natasha chuckled and fought back a couple of tears.

In another life, they were probably lovers. In another universe, their lives had weighed less on their hearts, and they could afford to be young and silly.

______________________________

  
  


~ Five ~

_April 2015, Missouri_

In 2012, Natasha left for India with her head full of aseptic information, trying hard to get an idea of the man who was hiding behind the big green monster. She didn’t waste any energy thinking she was ready for what she would find, she was savvy enough to not delude herself. But she felt he had to work out a strategy. Banner was needed, Hulk was needed: they had sent her specifically to reach the goal. She couldn't afford to fail.

But then Dr. Bruce Banner had proved to be even more elusive than the reports suggested. A glance to the man, few words between them, and Natasha had realized how pathetically useless was any kind of strategy with him. Bruce was an open book, his complexity in the sunlight, his weaknesses and strengths totally on display.

How do you get into the folds of a person who has _no folds_ ? ‘I am who I am’, he was constantly saying without even _saying_ it.

For a long time it wasn’t possible for her to really understand what had moved Bruce that day, when he decided to come with her. Sometimes the secrets are hidden in full light, so they remain unseen. Sometimes it is like that and you are simply dazzled.

This shaked her ground – and she didn’t like it. What she liked is fullfil her missions and watch the scales of her conscience slowly swing in the right direction, one sand grain at a time.

But Bruce had gradually become something more than just a grain among so many other grains.

At first Natasha thought it must have been like this for Clint when they sent him for her. He must have felt that same push: the inevitable need to reach out to someone you see on the edge. There are people like her, who stay there all their life until someone picks them up. That someone for her had been Clint.

And it was easy and beautiful and – well, why not? – even ego boosting that now it was Natasha's turn to reach out that hand. This certainly weighed on her personal scales.

But when Natasha did it, when her hand met Bruce's, she found that once again the one on the edge was her. Only this time she wasn't alone. This time she was there with a man who was born on the edge and had built a whole life on it. A man who was fine on that edge, as can be only someone who is aware of being forced into it forever.

It was not resignation, nor survival. It was resilience and Natasha thought she had learned it a long time ago, but what Bruce showed her was a new nuance, something that even someone like her struggled to accept.

The last thing Natasha would have expected was to find herself naïve about such a man. But here she is. Life is strange and in its strangeness she had put her in the damn cliché of falling in love with a _normal man_. A middle-aged doctor with salt and pepper hair, reading glasses and even a soft belly.

So that evening, in the Bartons' guest room, with Bruce's open gaze over her, Natasha's last resistances fell apart like house of cards. They went down one by one along with the layers of clothing, making no more than a slight rustle. Natasha kicked them off completely along with her panties and closed her lips over Bruce's, pushing him towards the bed. They collapsed on the patchwork bedspread and she straddled him, Bruce moved away her hair and hold her face to kiss her deeply. They rolled until he was on top, staring fondly at her.

He looked at her and looked and _looked_ , and that gaze take her breath away. He saw her, he _really saw her_.

His hands and his mouth saw her, with such humble amazement. She never experienced something like this. Natasha let herself be caressed and kissed and explored, for once as vulnerable as those in front of her. For once, on the same emotional level. With the same needs, the same fears, the same wonders. The same plain desire to be with a person, to really know him.

Bruce kissed her neck with a satisfied "Mmh" that resounded through her in all its neatness. And she blinked at the ceiling, an incredulous laugh rising from her throat. She wasn’t a second-best, a momentary relief, an impromptu therapist. She was just Natasha and she was making love to a man and that was what she wanted, what both wanted.

She wanted that man in his wonderful and reassuring imperfection. She wanted the wrinkles around his eyes, the stubble over his cheeks, the veil of sweat that beaded his temples. She wanted it all and she wanted Bruce to want her the same way. She wanted to be seen beyond her mysterious Mata Hari glaze, the real Natasha to be found under the layers and layers of different masks. She could be everyone, maybe Bruce will want her for what she really was?

Slowly she stroked his arms, his shoulders, his whole back, and down to his ass, mapping the skin, the slight shift of the muscles. Then her hands slide up again and ended up in his hair. She hooked her legs to his hips and pulled him down. Bruce let out a surprised yelp, looking at her in amused amazement. She moved her head forward, bumping thier noses. They shared a complicit smile and kissed again, and again, and again.

As he sink into her Natasha felt so small under him. Her arms and legs wrapped around his body as if needing for an anchor, her soul curled up against his and her breathing stuttering. Bruce whispered something to her and she realized she had him locked him in a vise grip. She relaxed enough for him to move.

In and out, in and out, _in and out._ So languid, unhurried. As if he was savoring her, as if he were looking for nothing but her. What do they say about travels? That the path matters more than the destination?

Under Bruce’s path, Natasha felt her muscles relax one by one, until she finally found herself on his same wavelength.

“Hey.” He murmured between a kiss and thrust, “Here you are.”

She smiled at him: “Here I am.”

In this life, were they lovers? In this universe, would they have lasted more than a parenthesis between one mission and another?

By nature Natasha was pessimistic. Better safe than sorry, right? But that night – just that night – she allowed herself to fall asleep lulled by Bruce's heartbeat. For that night, the main character was her.

______________________________

**Author's Note:**

> * "Yebat kopat!" it's the Russian equivalent of a swear like "Oh, fuck!".
> 
> ** "Blin" is the name of a traditional Russian dish, but the word is used as a light swear.


End file.
